You are falling. Wait. It’s me that’s falling. You’re along for the ride. (Damn freeloader!) A finite falling distance. From birth to death. Toward the light. Always toward the light. Above me is the past. I want to see back to the womb, to remember the first time I saw my mother’s face or whatever blurry image served this initial visual connection. But I’ve fallen too far and can only see back partially. I have trouble deciphering between actual vision and remembered sight. The longer I fall the further away these early visions recede. They fade. Memories made of sights and sounds and feelings spiral around me like pixie stick paper forming a tube of my past, one day to be a completed wormhole of my existence. And tonight, as I look neither up to my past nor down to my future, it’s as if my free fall has slowed, possibly even frozen in time. A thousand spokes of the present’s possibilities jut out perpendicular to my past. Any one spoke or many might spiral around into my future. I’m floating in midlife, parallel to the present as if hovering face first over a hole. I look down. The future is a dark, tubular latticework of what is to come. Waiting to be filled in. I can’t yet see the light but looking into the future doesn’t follow the same ocular laws as gazing into the past. I could be seconds from the end of my fall or years. But now you are part of my fall, and I, a small part of yours. We are falling together. We are all falling.

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